


The Book

by Castiel_Left_His_Mark_On_Me



Series: Destiel/ Cockles Shorts [9]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Audio Format: MP3, Coats, Destiel - Freeform, Feels, Fluff and Angst, Implied Castiel/Dean Winchester, Laundry, M/M, Podfic, Podfic & Podficced Works, Podfic Available, Podfic Length: 10-20 Minutes, scales - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-31
Updated: 2015-03-31
Packaged: 2018-03-20 12:25:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3650271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Castiel_Left_His_Mark_On_Me/pseuds/Castiel_Left_His_Mark_On_Me
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He was just doing the guy a favor. That suit jacket has been on the angel every day since he zapped into that meat suit of his, so ... the thing kind of needs to be cleaned. Dean was just doing him a favor and washing it. He didn't expect to find what he did in the pocket ... but he found it and now he's kind of pissed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Book

**Author's Note:**

> [Listen to the audio version (Youtube link).](https://youtu.be/4cF55uVmuNsi)

      It is a rare moment to see it hanging on anything other than the angel’s broad shoulders; but, there it is now, draped carefully over the back of one of the study’s chairs. The black suit jacket seems so normal in its current state. It could belong to anyone—it would never be the most stylish, Dean thinks … but it _could_ belong to anyone. Resting casually on the wings of this, old, wooden seat, no one would ever think that such a plain jacket could belong to an all powerful angel.

     Dean frowns. _He isn’t as all powerful anymore._ No, Castiel is getting weaker each day and Dean can see it. It’s not only the dark circles and the bags under his eyes, but it’s other things too. The guy is yawning. He’s sweating. He’s stretching out his muscles and cracking his bones because he’s getting tired. Such things shouldn’t make Dean so sad, but they do—when they come to the angel, they _really_ do.

     He looks down at the suit jacket once more, thinking of all the reasons _why_ Cas would have taken it off. _He might have been uncomfortable … or hot._ It is warm in the bunker today. Dean begins to wonder if the angel stripped down to cool off, which implies that he was sweating again … which means, that jacket might be a little ripe by now. Dean picks it up off the back of the chair and leans in for a sniff, yanking it back just as quickly. He scrunches up his nose and turns away, desperately trying to find fresh air to breathe. _Yeah, that thing’s rank!_ He has to do some laundry anyway, and he knows how to clean these things – _hell_ , he’s cleaned them in motel sinks dozens of times.

     Dean keeps the fabric tightly pinched between his fingers, holding it out in front of him as he heads to the laundry room. The other clothes are sitting next to the machine, but he decides to hold off on those. _It’s the guy’s only jacket, after all_. He has to take special care of it. He walks over to the washer and sets everything to “extra-delicate” this and “intimate” that … ensuring that no harm will come to one of his friend’s few, worldly possessions. He opens up the top of the machine and begins to drop the coat in, only halting a moment later to check the pockets. He’s sure Cas doesn’t keep anything in there … _what would he even have?_ The two side pockets are empty, save for some lint, but the inner breast pocket has a little weight to it. Dean fishes inside and pulls out a small, thin leather booklet—almost like an address book, but when he opens it up, he doesn’t find addresses inside.

     “1: Hamburgers.”

     “ _What the hell_?” Dean asks the empty room while looking at the long, poorly scribbled list spanning down the short pages.

     The washing machine switches cycles, sloshing around a bin of nothing but soapy water. Dean quickly places the jacket inside, closing the lid before sitting on the small stool in the corner of the room and returning to the angel’s mysterious notes.

     “2: Cooperating Cats.”

     Dean laughs, remembering the time his friend felt it necessary to interrogate that mangy animal at the retirement home—not that _he_ hasn’t done the same; but he _could_ talk to animals at one point, so …

     “3: Board Games.”

 _Are these his favorite things?_ Dean wonders, continuing down the list.

     “27: Warm Blankets (when cold can be felt).”

     Dean frowns again. He really wishes he could have been there for the guy when he was human.

     “43: Coffee.”

_Well, that should be way higher up the list. We all need coffee._

     “79: Angel Blade.”

     Dean furrows his brow. _Why is that so low? That’s his main weapon._ He considers having a talk with the guy about his priorities once the laundry is done.

     “88: Kissing.”

     Dean blushes.  Cas has only ever had two experiences—that _he_ knows of … _were they really that bad to be so low on his list?_

     “98: Friends. Company.”

     Something begins to gnaw in the pit of Dean’s stomach. He’s angry.  

     “99: Family.”

_Family is below friends? What the fuck, Cas?”_

     “100: Dean.”

     The list ends. _Dean_ is the very last thing. He isn’t sure why he was even mentioned at all, he didn’t have to be if he was going to be the last anyway. He closes the book and tosses it onto the counter, turning his back to it to try and block out the offense. _I’m last? I don’t have to be his fucking favorite thing ever… but last?_ His ears start to burn as he wrings his hands together. _Bees were fucking 64, but I’m last_. Dean huffs, pushing himself off the tiny stool and marching across the room. He knows he shouldn’t be _this_ irked by the book, but— _last?_

     He thinks about the list for the next two hours, being less careful with the rest of the jacket’s cleaning process the more those messy numbers dance in his head. He spitefully turns the dryer to “extra hot” thinking maybe it will shrink it a little … _maybe_. _Number 49 was honey! I didn’t beat out fucking honey?_ The jacket finishes in the dryer, still normal sized and now—much nicer smelling. Dean is relieved even though he’s still pissed. He wouldn’t want to ruin the guy’s only clothes, no matter _how_ angry he was at him.

     He emerges from the laundry room once the other wash is started, heading back to the study with the jacket draped over one arm, and the small book in his other hand. He comes in to find Castiel, sitting stiffly in the chair where he had found the tired, worn thing in the first place—he’s reading a book and doesn’t even notice Dean until the man is right beside him. The exhausted, blue eyes rock up and smile a little once they meet his friend’s. Dean almost returns the expression before he remembers that he’s the last item for the angel to even consider.

     “I washed your jacket” he says coldly, holding it out for his friend to take.

     Castiel looks at it, his features smoothing out as wonder and surprise rush over him. “You didn’t have to do that. That is very kind of you, Dean. Thank you.” He pulls the coat softly from his hand and returns it to the back of the chair.

     “Yeah well, _it stunk_. I was doing the rest of us a favor, really” Dean grumbles beginning to turn around, knowing it’ll add to the dramatic effect of his next action … and _he’s all about_ the dramatic effect. “ _Oh_ …” he says, turning slowly so the angel can see him finish the spin. Dean locks his eyes with Cas’s, narrowing them harshly so he can truly hammer this home. “I found your _book_. Took a peek inside. Glad to know where I stand, buddy.” He tosses the leather booklet over so it slides across the long table in front of the angel. Castiel reaches out and stops it from gliding off the edge. He clutches it tightly before returning to the green fury being thrusted at him.

     Dean turns around again to march down the hall towards his room—not feeling any better now that he vented a little.

     “Dean, you seem angry” the angel calls after him.

     Dean stops, lifting his hand up and shaking a finger in the air. “Yeah, I’m a bit pissed, man. I’m the _last_ thing? Hamburgers are number one, but the guy you rebelled for is _last_? I mean, why am I even on there? I don’t have to be your _favorite_ or anything; but then just don’t make me a _thing_ at all” Dean stays facing the hall, not wanting the angel to see the hurt pulling over his face.

     “Dean …”

     “ _Nah_ , it’s fine man. Just sayin’ though, you may want to figure out your priorities—especially since that fading grace of yours might keep you down here for good.” He tosses a quick glance over his shoulder to see his friend rising from his chair. Dean starts to move once more down the hall, but a hand is quickly clamped over his shoulder, forcing him back around.

     “ _Dean_.” Cas’s voice is harsh and his eyes are serious, glowing around his thoughts and making Dean incapable of looking anywhere else. “This isn’t a list of my favorite things.” He holds up the book and shakes it in front of the man’s face. “It isn’t a _list_ at all.”

     Dean cocks his head to the side, looking at the leather bound pages that are gripped tightly between the angel’s fingers.

     “This is a scale” Cas sighs, finally softening and letting his hand fall off the man’s shoulder. “I use this to judge every situation I am not familiar with. I—I have made _so many_ errors in my time here …” he pauses, looking away, shrinking against his own, shameful memories. “I just needed some way of measuring import.” He looks back again, turning the book towards himself and opening it to the first, thin page. “If it’s close to one, then it’s trivial. I don’t need to worry about such a thing. I won’t need to sacrifice anything or _anyone_.”

     Dean straightens out, quickly realizing what his friend is saying. Guilt washes over every inch of his body. He reaches out to touch the angel’s arm, but retracts, knowing that it’s not enough.

     Castiel continues. “And … and if whatever it is I am facing or have to think about is close to one hundred …” he looks up at Dean, his eyes moving slowly over each line in the man’s face, “then  I know it’s something I would die for.”

     Dean holds onto his breath, staring at the angel in front of him, noticing once more, his tired skin and exhausted eyes. _His grace isn’t the only thing that did this to him_. Dean sinks, knowing that _he_ is mostly to blame. Cas put _him_ above everything and everyone in the world. He has sacrificed and even died for him multiple times—and Dean has only thanked him with what? A clean jacket and a surly attitude? “Cas, man … _I’m sorry._ ” _It’s not enough._ He knows that.

     Castiel smiles softly, shaking his head as he lowers the book once more. “It’s alright, Dean. I can understand the confusion.” The angel’s smile drops as he turns and begins to walk away; but Dean stops him before he can pull any further.

     “ _No_ … for everything, Cas. I am _so_ sorry for everything.”  Before he can even comprehend, Dean is wrapping the angel in a hug, letting his hands slide over the soft, white shirt that’s usually hidden from his view—its fabric is thin and worn. He can feel the angel’s bones and tired muscles underneath; but they firm finally as Castiel raises his arms to wrap him up as well.

     They stay in the hall, holding each other tightly for too many moments, not realizing how much time is passing; but it doesn’t matter. Because, on the scale of _hamburgers_ to _Dean Winchester_ —a man hugging his angel has to be pretty, damn important.

 

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first installment of a Daily Drabble series I'm doing on tumblr. Please find me at castiel-left-his-mark-on-me . 
> 
> Also, look around my ao3 for more feels, angst and smut. Thanks for reading!


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